


Higher Ed

by tenandi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Back to School, Crush at First Sight, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Hot Professor, Study Groups, creative writing 101
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-06-26 14:59:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19770637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenandi/pseuds/tenandi
Summary: Crowley goes back to school after his beloved plant shop burns down. When he first sees his Creative Writing professor, his heart sets to burning all over again.





	1. 101

Crowley’s first two classes had been painfully boring. So much for finishing his bachelor’s degree if it continued on this way. Going back to school had been a spur of the moment decision after his plant shop burned down a few months back. Not that he’d had much business anyways. People were always wandering in and out in a haze of confusion when they realized there were no flowers for sale in the store.

“That’s why it’s called a plant shop,” Crowley would grumble to their retreating backs.

The insurance money had provided the means for a fresh start, and Crowley didn’t want to miss the opportunity to finish something he’d started a few decades ago. Attain a BA and become a botanist. He’d dropped out of school in his mid-twenties after realizing how cripplingly dull some professors could be...so far, they were proving him right all over again.

He sighed and sank down in a hard blue plastic chair. A couple of girls were giggling next to him. Practically children compared to him.

“I think they’re blue,” one was arguing. “Or...grey?”

“They’re green,” the other asserted. “But they change in the light. At any rate he’s gorgeous.”

“And at least twenty-five years older than you, perve,” the first girl teased.

“What can I say, Anathema?” her friend laughed. “I’ve got a kink for older men.” The girls eyes slid off of her companion and settled on Crowley who twitched and shifted his gaze to the ceiling.

The girl called Anathema pinched her friend as a man walked up to the front of the room. “There's your boyfriend, Quin,” she giggled.

Crowley pulled out his notebook and sighed again in anticipation of another boring, humdrum, waste of --- His brain shut down. The man, their professor apparently, was smiling, and it was like the world had been set on fire with its light. Slightly plump and decked out in a beige suit, the man looked around the room affably and nodded to a few students as he went.

“Excellent!” he proclaimed merrily. “Young scholars, I dare say.”

He looked like he forgot what he was going to do next until he sprang over to the chalkboard and wrote down his name. Azira Phale. Crowley bit his lower lip and practiced the name in his mind. Was that Middle Eastern? The pale, shocked-white haired man hardly looked foreign, even if Crowley had never seen another comparable person.

“My name is Azira,” the professor beamed, each smile competing to outdo the last. “Allow me to welcome you to Creative Writing. I’ve sent out the syllabus so we won’t need to review it. No such thing as syllabus day in this course! Nope, right to work I always say.”

The professor continued to speak but Crowley found it harder and harder to focus on his words. Every gesture, every expression made his stomach drop. He looked down at his hand and found it trembling slightly. A girlish sigh beside him drew his attention to the zygote named Quin who had professed her crush earlier. Her eyes were two moons like a cat in the dark. He could almost imagine a long tail twitching behind her as she stalked her prey. He hoped he didn’t look quite as ridiculous as all that.

Clearing his throat, Crowley sat up straight and tried to listen attentively as Mr. Phale went over the fundamental elements of writing. Suddenly, the professor turned on his heel and stood right in front of Crowley.

“What is the most essential faculty a writer must cultivate to be successful?” Mr. Phale asked the class. His eyes tripped over the blank and skittish faces of his pupils until they landed on the one before him.

“Ah,” the professor smiled warmly, “Perhaps you can help us out, Mr…?”

“C-Crowley,” was the stumbling reply. A shaking hand reached into dark red hair and scratched thoughtfully. “I suppose...I would say….imagination?”

Mr. Phale’s face could have melted the sun. “Tip top!” he cheered. “Imagination, indeed!” With a clap of his hands the professor returned to the board and began scribbling messily.

Crowley wasn’t sure how the next hour passed due to his crush-induced comatic state, but at last the professor called for dismissal and the students stood to leave. Crowley numbly began to follow until he heard his name ring out from the podium. Mr. Phale was shuffling papers into a satchel and looking at him expectantly.

“Mr. Crowley,” he began. “You’re a bit more experienced than my other students, I dare say.”

Crowley walked toward him in a dazed half-saunter. “You mean...older,” he supplied, a wry grin on his face.

Mr. Phale’s cheeks flushed and Crowley nearly fell apart all over again. He looked like a cherub in tweed and tartan.

“Forgive me if I caused any offense,” Mr. Phale proclaimed. “I was just thinking it might do to have you sit in on the students' writing group. You could offer advice and encouragement...”

Crowley tilted his head in confusion. “Er...how do you know I’m even a good writer?” he asked. “I could be bullocks.”

The professor turned a few shades redder at the curse and something else as well. “I...well that is, I always ask for a copy of my incoming students’ writing samples. From the application process, of course. When you told me your name I remembered your paper right away.”

Crowley’s tongue slipped out to trace his upper lip as he tried to recall the paper. It had been a rush job just like the rest of his application. He glanced back to the professor whose eyes had gone a bit hazy. Was he looking at his mouth? Mr. Phale’s eyes snapped back to Crowley’s and he smiled genuinely.

“It was a most peculiar story,” he said fondly. “Something about driving a burning car through the Apocalypse, I believe.”

“Oh!” Crowley laughed. “I like to write stories like that as a diversion, or I mean, I did when I was waiting for customers at my shop. Burned down, though. That’s why I’m here now.”

Mr. Phale’s eyes misted and his face formed the perfect picture of grief and solace. “Dreadfully sorry to hear that,” he said. “But...maybe you’re here for a reason. One, perhaps, may be to inspire these students while you’re at it.”

Crowley grimaced. “Me? I don’t know anything about millennials. I’m sure you’ve got the inspiration thing down pat. It’s obvious that they all adore you.”

Mr. Phale did a cheeky eye roll while Crowley flushed. Did ‘all’ implicate himself as well?

“Perhaps, perhaps,” the professor was saying. “But I’d still really like for you to join us. Would you? We meet in the library every Wednesday to share pages and chat. Do say you’ll come!”

Crowley stared into the professor’s eyes and knew in that moment, he could never, and would never deny this man anything.

“Sure, Mr. Phale,” he agreed.

The professor practically bounced on his heels. “Excellent!” he replied. “And just Azira will do.” he added, wrinkling his nose adorably.

Crowley’s teeth clenched inside his mouth. Azira. He nodded quickly.

“Perfect,” Azira said as he walked toward the door. “See you then...Crowley.”

“Anthony,” Crowley managed weakly, but he didn’t think he’d been heard.

The door shut with a slight rattle and Crowley collapsed into the nearest chair. He hoped the janitor had a mop because he was fairly sure he’d have to be wiped up off the floor after that exchange.


	2. 102

Wednesday would take six thousand years to arrive, as it turned out. The normal twenty-four hour period was greatly delayed in large part by Crowley’s abject state. He glared at the clocks in his flat to no avail, and resigned himself to writing in the interim.

He’d started crafting a short story about a magic dog who adopted a young boy in the forest. It was a little silly, but he really enjoyed escaping into his imaginary world for a few hours every day. It helped distract him from thoughts of his old life, and his shop.

Sure, he hadn’t been the most tender to his green-leafed friends, but he secretly loved each and every one of them. Only one survived the terrible fire, in part because he’d brought it home to nurse it along from a sprout to a full-grown beauty. His eyes lingered on it moodily before returning to his story. He hoped it was good enough to impress Mr. Phale.

Azira. The name rang like a sweet chime in his brain. His hands slipped from his laptop and bunched into the black pants over his thighs as he continued to fantasize. What would it be like to kiss those cherry-stained lips? What kind of sounds could be elicited if his tongue traced lazily down his neck?

Crowley groaned. This was so unlike him. In fact, he hadn’t had a proper crush in ages! And yet this man drew him in like a moth to the flame, or a sinner to church. Crowley laughed at the allusion and glared at the current project his computer. It wasn’t going anywhere for now. He saved the file and brought up a new document. The blank page sang before him.

With some consternation, Crowley started tapping on the keyboard.

‘There’s no good that is all good, nor bad that is all bad. At least that’s how the angel rationalized the fact that his closest companion after eons on the planet was in fact...a demon.’

Crowley smiled slowly. Much better.

-

The library was absolutely cozy. Crowley made his way past endless stacks, hushed study rooms, and plush armchairs before he found the writing group gathered near the student-run cafe on the lower level. His eyes immediately scanned for Azira, whom he found in eager conversation with an owlish-looking girl he recognized from his biology class. Also gathered were Anathema and her friend, two male students, and at least six other girls. It was quite a turnout!

Azira glanced up and waved him over cheerfully, indicating a chair right next to his own. Crowley tried to hide the glow that bloomed inside his chest as he sat down. Azira looked at him conspiratorially while the group talked amongst themselves.

“Are you ready to change hearts and minds?” he asked in a low voice.

Crowley let slip a toothy smile. “I’m ready when you are!”

The group turned out to contain a number of gifted writers, Crowley came to realize. The format was fairly simple: each student would read their work (or ask someone else if they were shy) while the others listened attentively. Afterward, the group would host a brief discussion, ask questions, and offer suggestions for the writer. It was actually quite fun considering Crowley had never done anything like that before. He was and had been sort of a loner for most of his life.

The girl Quin was eager to share a story about futuristic anthropologists, while Anathema preferred more occult themes in her work. The owlish girl, Olivia it turned out, enjoyed extreme survival narratives while some others offered up horror and sci-fi tales. He was just getting into it when Azira rested a hand lightly on his knee.

“And you, Anthony,” he said. “Have you brought anything to share with the group?”

Crowley flustered. His eyes shot back and forth from the hand and the mouth that were competing for his attention. At long last he dragged his laptop out of his messenger bag.

“Just a blip,” he stuttered nervously. “If anyone wants to read it.”

Azira surprised him by holding out his hands and nodding. “Happy to,” he said. Crowley glanced at the empty spot where the hand had touched his leg and tried not to pout at its absence. Instead, he settled in to listen.

When Azira finished the group had a lot of feedback.

“I don’t understand how an angel and demon could work together,” Olivia said. “Aren’t they programmed to destroy one another on sight?”

A boy named Thomas blinked irritably. “Of course not,” he chimed in. “They both have free will. How else would Lucifer have fallen?”

Crowley smiled easily. “Well it’s not based in any kind of angel or demonology,” he offered. “Writing can be inspired by real beliefs or events without strictly adhering to them. It’s actually kind of fun to start with something concrete and create a new, imaginary system of order from it.”

Azira nodded with a wild grin. “There’s that word again! Remember? Imagination!” His fingers twittered in a goofy imitation of jazz hands. A few students shook their heads in mock exasperation.

“I’m intrigued by their relationship,” Quin said. “It’s so obvious there’s something going on between them that neither wants to acknowledge.”

Crowley started. “Wait, what do you mean?”

Quin shrugged her shoulders. “I mean it’s undeniable that they’re head over heels for one another. Just like that bit about the angel giving away his flaming sword, and the demon smiles...like beams...for the first time. Kind of on the nose, I think.”

Anathema looked at her friend from the side. “You’re kidding,” she said. “They’re best friends! Just friends, that is. Besides, they don’t even have uh...the right parts. They’re immortal beings, not humans. Right Mr. Phale?”

Azira’s eyebrows shot up. “Hm, well… I suppose you both have a point. What does the author have to say?”

Crowley looked like someone had just smacked him in the face with one of the chair cushions. “I...well...I guess I’m not sure?”

“The angel sounds really hot, too,” Quin said saucily. “Bleach-blonde hair on a dad bod is my jam. And the demon...all wiry and slinky with his bright yellow eyes. Mm, and a ginger at that! I ship it!” She covered her mouth laughing while Anathema slapped at her.

“You’re so weird,” her friend teased.

Azira leaned back in his chair and glanced at the clock. “Yes, well, maybe we should finish up for the night on that note. We’ve probably exhausted the best of our sensible conversation.”

“I would say so,” Crowley added. Azira smiled easily at him for a beat.

Quin looked up at them and the mood shifted as her laughter died out. Crowley couldn’t help but feel that she was staring right at him, through him, even. Ignoring it, he took his computer back from Azira and stuffed it in his bag. The other students stood to leave but Quin was pulling Anathema into a not-so-subtle whisper-fest.

Crowley’s face heated up when Anathema gasped and stared openly at him and their professor. Releasing pent-up giggles, the two bid farewell and ran off together in a peal of laughter.

“That was odd,” Azira said, having noticed the strange display from his students.

Crowley nodded slowly. “I told you these millennials are beyond my comprehension. I’ll be no help to you deciphering their social displays.”

Azira chuckled softly. “Perhaps not, but there is another matter in which you might be of some use.”

The two stood up together and made toward the exit.

“Something I can help you with?” Crowley asked with sincere interest.

“Well,” Azira blushed softly. “It’s just that I don’t share my writing with the students. I’d rather focus on helping them. I just wondered if you might be interested in having a look?”

Crowley’s heart took a giddy nose dive. Azira might as well have asked to go to bed with him. Reading someone’s writing is one of the most intimate, exposing acts of another’s inner mind, and there was no mind he was more excited about delving into.

“Yes,” Crowley said a little too quickly. “I mean...sure!”

Azira glowed, his eyes darting to the floor and back up again. “Oh that’s very kind,” he said happily. “I’m actually heading over to the coffee and wine bar down the street. They have the most scrumptious scones and pastries. Would you...ah...can I tempt you to tag along?”

Crowley exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for over an hour. “You can indeed,” he replied.


	3. 103

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll I'm on fire. (Goes back to writing)

The bar/cafe was impossibly cute. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling and emitted a soft, peaceful glow on the customers who sat in cushy, pillowed booths. Crowley could see immediately why Azira liked it so much. He wasn’t big on sweets, but Crowley couldn’t resist a bite of tiramisu offered to him by Azira’s own fork. They’d only been chatting together for an hour but Crowley felt like they’d known each other since time immemorial.

Azira was laughing now as he told stories about past students. Crowley devoured the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, how easily he smiled, the tartan bow tie that bobbed up and down when he got excited.

The waitress came by to deliver Crowley’s second glass of Malbec. “Were you and your husband wanting anything else to eat?” she asked casually.

Crowley’s brain short-circuited but Azira waved his hand gently. “I think we’re quite alright for now, thank you,” he answered. He nonchalantly continued a story about some rival professor while Crowley tried to close his gaping mouth. Was he really just going to sweep that under the rug?

“I’m sorry,” Crowley interrupted awkwardly. “It’s just...she just said…” He gestured toward the waitress who was milling around the other diners.

Azira’s head tilted as if Crowley had just spoken some foreign language. “Oh!” he said suddenly. “That? My dear, did it bother you that she mistook us for a couple?”

Crowley wished he could travel back in time. First stop: two minutes ago. Why exactly had he felt compelled to open his mouth?

“B-bother me?” he stammered. “Well no. I mean not in that way. I don’t have any problem with...I mean I don’t know if you’re....uh, that is to say…”

Azira saw him floundering and patted a soft hand over his own for a moment. Crowley watched in vain as the hand drew back toward its owner. “I don’t have any compunction about being queer,” the professor stated.

Crowley’s heart erupted like the Bellagio fountains. “Neither do I,” he said quickly.

“Furthermore,” Azira said softly. “I would never cross the line to fraternize with a student. Obviously.”

Crowley nodded agreeably until a horrible thought entered his mind. He WAS one of Azira’s students. The fountains froze over and caught on fire simultaneously. This was definitely not the way he wanted this to go.

“Er,” Crowley said lamely. “Of course.”

“Splendid!” Azira proclaimed. “Now I did want to speak with you about writing.” The professor pulled a small stack of papers out of his briefcase and spread them on the table.

Crowley watched as the hand-written letters swirled off of the pages and into a small tornado for all that he could focus on them. He didn’t want to drop Azira’s class or abandon the writing group, but at the same time he definitely wanted something more than a collegial relationship with this man. Life was so terribly unfair.

Azira selected one of the pages and handed it over to his student. “Yes, I think this one,” the professor was saying.

Crowley held it up and finally remembered how to read. It was a poem. A love poem. An erotic love poem with thinly-veiled allusions to carnal desires. Crowley expired on the spot.

-

Crowley did not die, actually, but it certainly felt like he had. Initially, his crush felt like all of the hope folded into changing seasons or the promise of rain on an arid day. There had been possibilities where now there was a roadblock. Azira would not fraternize. Crowley stared moodily at the wall in his apartment. A resentful version of his voice rang out in the empty room. “Obviously,” he said with a sneer.

He tried to remind himself that Azira was attempting to comfort him in the moment. Crowley’s Oscar-nominated performance came across panicked, if not outraged at the idea of them together. Why is it that he always managed to express the opposite of what he felt?

Having little to no solution at hand, Crowley tucked himself into his imaginary world. He plugged in his laptop, and began to write.

-

The next week Crowley practically ran to the library. Although he enjoyed seeing Azira in class, the writing group felt infinitely more intimate. He was beyond excited to see his professor outside of a classroom.

His heart fell when he saw Quin seated next to his heart’s desire, but she rose just as he approached the group.

“Just keeping your seat warm,” she said with a conspiratorial wink. Crowley blinked but wasn’t about to pass up the offer. He settled in next to Azira and smiled shyly.

Azira beamed like a flashlight: bright and direct to guide one’s way. “I hope you’ve been working on your story,” he said warmly. “I’m ever so excited to see what happens next.”

Crowley blushed slightly and spread out over his chair, taking up more room than strictly necessary. “No spoilers,” he said cheekily.

Azira regarded his student’s composure with no little admiration but a tiny blush of his own. “Well,” he said. “I’ll have to wait with bated breath just like everyone else.”

Crowley resisted straddling the professor’s strong thighs and shoving his tongue down his throat.

“Shall we get on?” Azira was saying.

The group enjoyed a productive session that ended up much like their last. After the students shared their new and ongoing works, Azira turned to Crowley and grinned.

“Are we to receive the latest installment of your tale?” he asked hopefully. Crowley sensed everyone leaning forward in their chairs. Maybe they were.

“It’s a bit unfinished,” Crowley drawled. “But sure. Why not?” He handed his computer to the professor who took it eagerly. Azira read the story in a loud and expressive voice. Crowley stopped paying attention to the words almost immediately, preferring to hear the low rumble in the professor’s chest while he was dramatizing. Crowley longed to fall asleep listening to that voice, preferably cuddled up next to his chest where he could feel it vibrate.

Upon finishing, Quin looked like the cat who caught the canary, practically licking her lips. “I fucking love this,” she said unabashedly. “They are soooo into each other. I’m going to explode.”

Olivia blew out a puff of air into her bangs. “You’re reading way too much into this,” she argued. “Armageddon is on its way and they have totally different loyalties. They ended their partnership, remember? That’s not a sign of undying devotion.”

Quin smirked. “It so is, though,” she pressed. “The demon was reluctant to take any side that wasn’t with his angel. He left to prove a point.”

Anathema was now on board apparently as she chimed in. “I agree with Quin,” she said. “All of these opposing forces are coming together to keep them apart, but I don’t think it’s going to last. There’s something ineffable about their relationship. I think it’s true love.”

Quin nodded at her friend and the two of them turned pointedly toward Crowley with matching smiles on their faces. He hoped they weren’t going to start giggling at him again.

Thomas was tapping his fingers on the table dreamily. “They do have a certain chemistry,” he admitted. “Ah, screw it. I want them to get together too. How can we make that happen?” He turned to regard Crowley pointedly.

Crowley balked. “Well, uh…” he started. “I guess maybe I need some writing advice?” A plot bunny began to romp around inside his brain, and with it, a slightly diabolical plan. “Perhaps Mr. Phale can weigh in on this topic,” he said breezily. “I’ve never written a love story and this is becoming, I believe undeniably, one of them. Let’s suppose that two beings, like in this case, can’t be together for larger reasons. Ethical ones, maybe. How is one, as a writer, supposed to guide them through?”

Azira squinted thoughtfully before glancing at Crowley, who was waiting expectantly. The group appeared to lean even further forward in their chairs. Quickly, Azira averted his eyes from his eldest student and wiggled his fingers in the air.

“You say they love each other,” he stated. Crowley nodded. “As if they’re fated to be together?” he added. Crowley nodded again, emphatically. “And despite all odds they would risk everything to that end?” Crowley nodded hard.

Azira frowned. “But at what cost?” he said so softly Crowley almost didn’t catch it. “The consequences could be devastating.”

“OMG,” Quin breathed. “Like Romeo and Juliet.”

“Yesss,” Anathema purred.

“It’s probably not worth the risk,” Azira said. The audience around him deflated. “But I’m sure you’ll work it out on the page! That’s what writers do, after all.” His cheerful composure returned as if he didn’t notice the collective disappointment from the group.

“On that note, I think we can conclude!” Azira said. “We’ll catch up again next week!”

Quin and Anathema grabbed Thomas before he could stand up, and Crowley watched the three of them engage in a heated whisper-debate. At least his work was rousing the students’ interest, if nothing else, he thought. Until their three pairs of eyes landed suddenly on him.

“Oh,” Thomas said, darting a glance at Azira and back to him. “Oh yeah, you’re right!”

Anathema shushed him and the three scrabbled quickly to leave. Crowley groaned internally.

The professor appeared beside him as he stood up. “Er, I was hoping we could reconvene tonight, as last week,” Azira said. “If you’re free, that is.”

Crowley looked like a puppy on a tether. “Of course I am,” he admitted. In his head, he added, “Anything for you, angel.”


	4. 104

“Your story is taking such an interesting turn,” Azira was saying between gulps of white wine. He’d just finished off a ramekin of creme brulee and was looking quite pleased with himself. 

Crowley was finishing his own glass and signaled for the waitress to bring them another bottle. He wasn’t sure how heavily reinforced Azira’s guard was, but he wanted to break down at least one outer barrier. The words he’d spoken about Crowley’s chapter earlier made him think that angels and demons weren’t the only thing on the professor’s mind.

“Interesting yes,” Crowley mused. “I suppose I’ll have to cater to the fans.”

“You are making such an impact,” Azira averred. “They really look up to you.”

Crowley was mindful not to change the subject. “Maybe,” he admitted. “But they’ve given me a lot of food for thought. Your response was a bit puzzling.”

“Was it?” Azira asked innocently. He could look so demure when he wanted to.

“I guess I expected you to tell me the answer to the problem,” Crowley said. “You’re the expert, anyways.”

“Hmph,” Azira laughed and grunted at the same time. “If I had the answers, believe me, I’d use them.” He traced over the rim of his wineglass thoughtfully.

“Would you?” Crowley asked rhetorically. He leaned in with both elbows on the table. “Have you ever had a similar experience? I mean to the one my characters are facing.”

“Have you?” Azira countered.

The men regarded one another before saying at the same time, “Yes.”

Crowley beat him to the punch on the follow-up. “And what did you do?” he asked.

Azira sighed. “Best not to talk about it, I think. But I did...nothing.”

“More’s the pity,” Crowley said dully. “Some things are worth it, you know. You won’t tell me about it?” Crowley was shameless, and so much like the demonic character he’d devised in that fashion.

Azira looked increasingly uncomfortable, but their second bottle had arrived and Crowley was already topping off his glass. Nothing like a little liquid courage, after all.

The professor downed a third of his drink before looking at Crowley intently. “A student,” he admitted. “There was a student.”

“Oh,” Crowley said in mock surprise. “Must have been special to catch your eye.”

“He...he was,” Azira said dreamily. “Had a lot of potential, certainly.”

“And a handsome devil, I imagine,” Crowley added, leading the witness.

“So, yes,” Azira was drifting in a sea of alcohol. “So...he smouldered. Like a red dwarf.”

“Your poet is showing,” Crowley quipped. “I do love your poetry.”

Azira grinned lazily at him. “Oh that’s quite nice. Thank you. I write some for him, sometimes.”

“Can I see one?” Crowley asked with barely concealed hunger in his eyes.

Azira dug something out of his bag and passed it over to him. Crowley scanned the page eagerly. “You call him a fallen angel?” he asked with keen interest. His heart threatened to pound out of his chest.

“My fallen angel, my tempter,” the professor slurred. “Heaven stood idly by; spurned, while earth and my lost star burned.”

Crowley wanted to chase those words like he’d just invented the sprint.

“Or somethin’ like that,” Azira giggled.

“And this student,” Crowley demanded. “You think about him a lot?”

Azira sighed and sighed again. “All the time,” he confessed. “But you,” the professor was suddenly remembering the other side of the coin. “What happened with you?”

Crowley cast a sly, knowing look at his companion. “He was...it was a long time ago,” he began. “There was a professor.”

Azira gaped openly. “No,” he gasped. “But really? And did you…?”

Crowley wiggled in his seat. “I wish I had,” he offered. “He was...singular. The first time I laid eyes on him it was like the world stopped spinning just to give me more time to look at him. He was erudite. Fiercely intelligent, but also kind. Disney kindness, I mean. How birds didn’t land on his arms at all hours I’ll never know.”

Azira sighed deeply. “He sounds lovely,” his voice warbled.

“He,” Crowley dared, “Was an absolute angel. “But...we could never be.”

“Why not??” Azira complained. He looked like a toddler demanding a happy ending to his bedtime story. Crowley suppressed an emerging laugh.

“Well, he had rules he had to follow,” Crowley returned. “There were lines that couldn't be crossed.”

Azira stiffened. He pushed his glass toward the center of the table. Crowley froze.

“Oh...goodness,” Azira said. “Just look at the time! We should have the waitress cork your bottle. I have a faculty meeting very early, you see.”

Crowley jerked with the shifting of gears, like a novice learning manual drive. “Oh, sure,” he said carefully. “Of course. I hadn’t realized it was getting so late.”

They settled their tab a little too quickly for Crowley’s taste. Azira was jumping up and making toward the exit before Crowley could even register the movement, but he wasn’t having any of it. His professor was trolleyed, and there was no way he was letting him drive home in that state.

Grabbing his corked bottle, Crowley followed him out the door and onto the street.

“No, no, nope,” Crowley announced as he saw his professor trying to enter the passenger side of his vehicle.

Azira looked perplexed. “But how shall I arrive home?” he asked. “Oh dear, I wish I could miraculously sober up.”

“Well you can’t,” Crowley countered. “Where’s home?”

Azira looked left and right in utter confusion, seemingly torn between two opposing directions. He pointed in both just to be sure.

“And that settles it,” Crowley declared. “This way.”

Azira found himself sitting in his student’s car. “This doesn’t seem right,” he stated.

“Oh, angel,” Crowley breathed. “Nothing’s ever been more so.”

-

Azira was tucked into Crowley’s couch and sleeping like the angel that he was. Crowley glared at him from a distant armchair and glugged down his wine straight from the bottle. How tantalizing to have the object of his affection so close within his grasp, and yet, it would be wrong to act on any of it. How had it all gone pear-shaped so quickly?

Crowley groaned. He tried to think of anyone else he’d ever desired this much, and came up at a loss. It was only Azira. There had been no one before him, and he ventured, would never see his like again. He was irrevocably smitten.

As if on cue, Azira roused and sat up. Crowley was there to meet him and ease him back down.

“It’s just a dream,” Crowley insisted. “Back to bed, my love.”

Azira persisted and encountered a hard chest in his way. He pushed gently, as if to move a mountain by weak demand.

“It’s late,” Azira remarked. “Where am I?”

“Where you’re supposed to be,” Crowley stated. “It’s alright. I’ve got you. Sleep, darling.”

Azira was fighting him, pushing both hands in opposition. “This wasn’t my intention,” he countered. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Crowley disavowed the drunken ramblings for what they were. “It’s alright. Sh, now. Get some rest, angel.”

The more he pushed down, the more Azira resisted as if locked in battle. Azira was thrashing upward and pressing forward. His eyes were wild and desperate.

“It’s hopeless! I can’t keep fighting this. I just want…” he breathed.

Crowley was spent and pliant. He released his hold on the professor. “What?” he asked. It was past midnight and might as well be morning.

“I want… I want you,” Azira confessed. “Kiss me, or…or...”

Crowley smirked in the dark. “Or what?”

Azira hesitated. “Or I’ll never talk to you again.”

Crowley let out a labored breath. “Oh, you have no idea how much I want you.” His hands tangled in Azira’s soft curls and squeezed gently before releasing him. Azira’s eyes were half-closed, his mouth half-open. It was the most scintillating invitation Crowley had ever received, but alas, had to reject.

“Another time,” he said gently. “When you’re yourself.”

“Mph,” Azira complained as he settled back into his pillow.

“You probably won’t remember any of this in the morning,” Crowley said sadly. Azira was already lightly snoring.

-

In the morning, Azira was gone but left a kind note behind thanking Crowley for his hospitality. Crowley groaned horrifically as he collapsed into the spot once occupied by the professor. He greedily inhaled the cardamom scent left on Azira’s pillow. He knew he’d done the right thing by resisting his basest impulses, but an angel-shaped hole in his heart begged to differ.


	5. 105

Some weeks later, Azira’s elbow patches were awash in chalk as he lectured to the class. Crowley grinned at the absent-minded professor who smiled back unwittingly. Crowley loved every single quirk Azira displayed. It was rather distracting.

At the moment, Azira was explaining their first official assignment: a 3-5 page paper detailing their creative process. The class fake-groaned at the simple homework while Azira rallied. “Come now,” he directed. “Buck up! Just a few more papers and we’re past the midterm!”

Crowley rejoiced internally. He was almost halfway through the semester, which meant at some point, the class would end. And he’d finally be able to woo his professor properly. As much as he enjoyed studying botany, Crowley was so thankful he’d chosen this class as an elective. If he’d never met Azira...well, he didn’t even want to think about that.

Azira continued with a few announcements, including a get together for the English Department’s faculty and students. Apparently, they were celebrating the arrival of a prestigious new professor from America named Gabriel Archangel.

“Mark your calendar for Saturday night,” Azira said. “My address is on the sign-up sheet for the potluck.”

Crowley shifted in his seat. Finally, a chance to see where Azira lived! He could hardly contain himself. He mentally inventoried his wardrobe for the right ensemble.

After class, Crowley made his way to the professor’s podium and smiled broadly. “New colleague!” he exclaimed. “Must be exciting for you.”

“Indeed,” Azira agreed. “Apparently we poached him from Stanford. I figured we should welcome him properly!”

“Er,” Crowley fumbled. “Think you might need some help setting up, then? It sounds like a big to do, and I’d hate for you to prep everything on your own.”

Azira chuckled. “You know, I’m sure you’re right. I’m not the most prodigious housekeeper. Why don’t you come by an hour or so early? We can make sure everything’s in tip-top shape.”

Crowley hummed. “It’s a date,” he said unthinkingly. He turned on his heel and was out the door before the professor could react.

-

On Saturday, Crowley arrived at the quaint English brownstone and nervously adjusted his tie. Gathering his courage, he made his way up the steps and knocked gingerly on the door. Azira appeared on the other side to wave him in cheerfully.

“It’s a mess, I know,” the professor was saying.

Crowley took a glance around and chuckled at the sight of dusty bookshelves crowding every available wall. Old books and manuscripts were practically spilling off the shelves. The sitting room was filled with Queen Anne furniture sitting on a swath of persian rugs. For all its clutteredness, it had a warm cozy appeal just right for lazy Saturday lie-ins. Crowley could quite easily imagine himself snuggled up by the hearth with Azira.

“Nothing we can’t handle,” he replied. And then, “Broom?”

Azira put on a classical record as they cleaned, enjoying the companionable silence as they worked. Crowley had enjoyed a quick tour of the home, but was disappointed to find that Azira’s bedroom wasn’t on the menu. That door remained firmly shut.

Time flew by and the guests started to arrive, including several faculty Crowley had only glimpsed from afar on campus. Azira was a warm host who made polite introductions and kept the friendly conversation going any time it started to lull. Crowley made himself busy by collecting coats and accepting dishes as each new party arrived.

At last, the man of the hour made his appearance. Crowley had just settled onto a plush sofa next to Quin when she blew out a low whistle.

“Is that him?” she asked Anathema, who nodded numbly.

“Saw his photo online,” her friend answered. “Uh...did not do him justice.”

Crowley glanced up at the dapper, one-hundred percent American male specimen as he breezed through the room like he owned it. Azira was already greeting him with a prolonged handshake. Crowley couldn’t help the twinge of jealousy that flared up.

“Everyone,” Azira said as he turned toward the party. “May I introduce Mr. Gabriel Archangel, our newest addition and most welcome guest!”

The room responded with polite clapping and maybe one vague catcall from the kitchen.

“Doctor,” Gabriel corrected through perfect teeth. Azira winced but smiled over it. “Thank you all for gathering tonight,” Gabriel continued. He passed his coat off to Azira who hadn’t been expecting it, but took it in a genteel fashion and retreated to a back room for storage.

Crowley’s jaw clenched in irritation. Who exactly did this guy think he was?

As the evening continued, Crowley didn’t find himself any more enamored with the handsome, but moreover self-absorbed professor. Gabriel made it clear that he thought himself above everyone in the room, if not the general planet with which he graced his footsteps. Crowley found Azira’s glazed eyes while Gabriel recounted some of his larger accomplishments, of which there were many, apparently. Azira was nodding even though he was obviously less engaged than usual.

Crowley took the opportunity to cross the room and claim his hand. “Breath of fresh air?” he offered. Azira couldn’t agree more, but pulled Crowley toward his bedroom door rather than the front entrance where everyone could see them leave.

Crowley’s heart leapt at the chance to see inside Azira’s most private quarters. The room was the perfect companion to the rest of the home’s Victorian-inspired interior. The brown and beige palette was set off by small hints of peacock green on the dresser and armchairs at the end of the bed. Azira directed him toward the seating area which rested on a persian rug in front of a small fireplace. Here too, books were stacked up on every available surface, and had to be removed from one of the chairs for Crowley to sit down.

“I can’t say I’m particularly fond of your new colleague,” Crowley growled as he spread himself over the armchair. Azira sat primly but his expression revealed his sentiments well enough.

“A most insufferable arse, I’m afraid,” he agreed. Crowley chuffed in surprise at his professor’s rare curse.

“I suppose it’s too late to send him back to Stanford?” Crowley wondered. “Trade him out for another model?”

Azira laughed gently. “Unfortunately, that’s not an option. But his credentials are solid. He will prove a useful addition for the department in many ways - perhaps not socially. It’s hard to find everything you want in a candidate, after all. Sometimes there are trade-offs.”

Crowley nodded. “You know, he’s just the type of character that would oversee the bureaucracy of Heaven in my story. I think I’ll write him in.”

Azira snorted. “Serves him right. Do you fancy a drink?” He was already rising and made his way to a bar table in the corner.

“What about your party?” Crowley teased, an eyebrow raising on one side.

Azira was measuring out two fingers of whiskey. “Mph. Who’s to say the party isn’t right here? At least, the one I’d much rather attend if given the option.”

Crowley felt a delighted blush creep up and took the proffered drink as Azira settled next to him once again. The two looked at one another for a beat, matching smiles playing over their lips.

“Think they’ll all just sod off if you leave them out there long enough?” Crowley suggested.

“One can hope,” Azira countered, “But perhaps I’ll give a gentle notification that the night is winding down. Will you excuse me a moment?”

Crowley nodded, and secretly relished being left in the room on his own for a beat. It made him feel like Azira trusted him, leaving him here in his private chambers. Of course, he shouldn’t have. Crowley darted up and ran his eyes indulgently over every decorative object and detail as if to suss out the secret world of his professor. He seemed to have a penchant for cherubic sculpture, antique globes, and beeswax candles. If he didn’t know any better, Crowley would assume he’d stumbled through a time portal ending up in Victorian England.

He sauntered over to a table holding a vintage chess set, and lovingly trailed a finger over the board. He wondered who Azira played with, or else perhaps set himself up on both sides, which wasn’t out of the question for the eccentric professor.

On the night table were a pair of round reading spectacles resting on top of a discarded tartan bow tie. Crowley couldn’t help but pick up the glasses and try them on, assuming a staunch pose he associated with the professor. He picked up the closest manuscript to read while fingering the soft bow tie in his other hand.

In a flash, the door opened and Crowley was caught red-handed.


	6. 106

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut ensues.

“Er, sorry!” Crowley said quickly, “I got bored, and…” He surreptitiously tossed the bow tie behind him, hoping he’d at least escaped the professor’s observation on that account.

Azira cracked up in response and crossed the room to stand before his student, gently removing the spectacles from his face and putting them on his own. “And what have we found here for entertainment, dear boy?” he inquired.

Crowley held out the collection of pages and Azira clucked his tongue in approval. “Hamlet! One of my favorites.”

Crowley smiled weakly. He didn’t really care for the gloomier Shakespeare plays. Instead of voicing that opinion, he changed the subject. “How many books would you say you owned?”

Azira shrugged in thought. “Hm, perhaps a few thousand? I haven’t really kept an inventory, though I should.”

“I don’t think I’ve met anyone better read than you,” Crowley said as he retrieved his whiskey glass from the mantle. He nodded his head toward the bedroom door, which Azira had left open. “Have they all shoved off, then?”

“Blessedly,” Azira answered. 

“I’m sure you’re ready to have me out of your hair as well,” Crowley said unwillingly.

Azira scoffed. “Why, it’s barely ten! Do say you’ll stay for a nightcap. I enjoy your company ever so much.”

Crowley’s heart soared. He wanted nothing more than to stay with the professor, to the end of time if he was allowed. “Of course!” he agreed.

Crowley followed Azira out into the living room and settled on the plush sofa like he’d done it a thousand times. Azira smiled brilliantly and went to fetch a bottle of wine. Crowley couldn’t help but hum under his breath happily.

The two passed the hours together, drinking and enjoying endless conversation. They had such a natural ease with one another, and Crowley very quickly started to wonder at the depth of feeling he had for this man, especially having known him for so short a time. He wondered if Azira felt the same. He swirled his wine in the glass, realizing he’d probably drank a bit more than he’d intended.

“Can I ask you something?” he said out of the blue. Azira nodded swiftly.

Crowley stood up and walked toward the front windows as if looking for the rest of his question outside.

“I just…” he began lamely. “You seem such a spectacular sort of man. I’m just surprised that someone hasn’t snatched you up.” He tried to put some humor into his words but still came off a little too sincere for his taste. “How in the world is that possible?”

Azira blushed and waved a hand to implicate his surroundings. “I don’t get out much,” he replied. “It’s always been hard for me to remember there’s an outside world when they’re so many wonderful books to read!”

Crowley couldn’t believe something so dorky could be such a turn on, but it was. The alcohol warming his veins drove him further. “But you’ve got everything someone would look for,” he argued, pacing around the room. “You’re smart, kind, interesting…”

Azira’s blush deepened. “You embarrass me,” he said, wiggling in his chair. “But you should talk!” Azira looked incredulous as if the words had come out of his mouth of their own accord.

“Oh?” Crowley prompted. “I doubt that.”

“No,” Azira stood to argue his point. “I’m shocked, frankly, that you’re unmarried. You’re a bit irreverent, to be sure, but I see an innate goodness in you that I think you mean to hide. Anyone would be so lucky to have you at their partner.”

The two men swayed slightly under mutual scrutiny. Crowley shrugged and stepped closer.

“I don’t want just anyone,” he said in a low voice. “It takes a lot to turn my head. You did.”

Azira’s eyes doubled in size. “Oh! Surely you don’t mean…”

Crowley’s willpower was sinking like the Titanic. There just wasn’t any room to go on pretending otherwise. He stepped forward again, closing the distance between them.

“The way I feel about you,” he breathed. “It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. You’ve turned my world upside down.”

Azira’s eyes were mapping Crowley’s face, taking in every detail like a cartographer. “But we…” he objected. “My position. There are...there’s lines that shouldn't be crossed.”

“Don’t talk to me about crossing lines,” Crowley threatened, his mouth dipping dangerously close to aligning with the professor’s. “Not when I love you the way I do. My angel.”

Azira’s eyes fluttered closed. He breathed in those words and Crowley’s breath, which hitched. The protective walls between them were crashing down soundlessly.

“Tell me you want me the way I want you,” Crowley demanded, begged.

Azira was helplessly trying to resist. “Anthony…” he said meekly.

“Anthony, what?” Crowley drove on. “Tell me what you want.”

Azira’s eyes scrunched and opened, and Crowley dove into their depths. He saw the pain, the hesitation, and the desire fighting for supremacy. “I want you. Take me. Claim me. Make me yours,” Azira confessed in a rush. “Anthony.”

Crowley’s lips crashed down and his arms wrapped greedily around the professor’s plump warmth. His hands were everywhere, tangling in Azira’s hair, grasping at the small of his back, scratching down his sides. He bent to capture Azira’s right leg and hitched it greedily around his hip, eliciting an aching moan from them both. His other hand dug into the professor’s glute and kneaded deliciously.

Azira broke away to gasp and Crowley attacked his throat instead, laving his tongue down one side just like he’d fantasized. The sounds that were returned were beyond anything he could have imagined. This was pure desire and desperation mixed into one.

Growing impatient, Crowley pulled Azira with him as he sat down, forcing the professor to straddle him on the couch.

“Ohh,” Crowley groaned in pleasure as they began to grind into one another. “See what you do to me, angel? You make me so hard.”

Azira gasped and threw his head back, revealing his throat. His eyes were shut as he rode Crowley’s lap with abandon. Crowley was not idle, but stripped off the professor’s coat and let it fall to the floor. He leaned forward and sunk his teeth into the tartan bow tie, pulling it undone. Azira looked down at him wantonly, like it was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

“My love,” he breathed. Crowley sped up his efforts to reveal his partner, yanking at buttons and popping a few clean off his oxford. For his part, Azira fought back to disrobe the object of his affection. Between the two of them it looked much like a feeding frenzy, and felt just as crazed.

Crowley’s heart nearly broke when Azira pushed away and their bodies parted, but Azira was on his knees and working at Crowley’s belt and zip. Naked from the waist up, Crowley watched as Azira tore the rest of his clothes from his body, freeing his straining erection. The look in Azira’s eyes was nothing less than predatory.

Crowley leaned back on the sofa and hissed like he’d been stung by a bee when Azira started mouthing at his inner thighs, laying wet kisses and nips in a messy path toward his cock. Azira’s hands were rubbing over Crowley’s hips and arse. His traitorous mouth stopped moving just short of his target.

“Fuck,” Crowley gasped as he looked down. Azira was torturing him, licking his lips and staring deviously at Crowley’s untouched cock.

“You’re perfect,” Azira breathed. “Just the right size. And so beautiful.” He let one dainty finger graze lightly up the side of Crowley’s erection, eliciting a desperate hiss from his student.

Azira’s eyes locked onto Crowley’s. “Do you know what I’m going to do to you?”

Crowley squirmed wantonly, begging to be touched. He couldn’t believe how kinky his professor actually was, and he fucking loved it.

“I’m going to put my mouth on you,” Azira explained. “I’m going to suck you off and slide my fingers into that tight little hole of yours. I’m going to make you come and Crowley…?”

Crowley nodded attentively, biting his lower lip.

“You're going to scream my name when you do.”


	7. 107

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More smut! Then drama. Finally, a small group of busybodies to the rescue.

Crowley groaned as the wet heat of Azira’s mouth sucked gingerly at the tip of his cock. He released with a pop and Crowley whined.

“That’s it,” Azira comforted. “Tell me how much you want it.”

“So much!” Crowley could barely speak. Azira wrapped his mouth around Crowley once more and dipped down to take in half of him. Crowley’s legs were trembling.

“So good,” Azira said, letting his hand wick over the length of him. His eyes turned positively bastardly as he gazed up at Crowley.

“You’re a little slut, aren’t you?” the professor cooed. Crowley felt like he might explode just hearing those dirty words come out of such an angelic mouth. He gasped in mixed pleasure and suffering. He needed that mouth back on him.

Azira licked up one side and down the other on his shaft, eliciting a choked sound from Crowley.

“Don’t stop,” Crowley begged. “Please don’t stop!”

Azira’s hand continued to pump but his precious mouth was too far away. A dark wave passed through his eyes.

“I bet you fuck all your professors,” he accused. “Is that what you do?”

Crowley’s hips bucked up. “No,” he gasped. “Only you. Oh please!”

“You told me about one,” Azira continued. “Don’t lie to me. You sexy…” His mouth wrapped around Crowley for one long, hard suckle. “Magnificent…” He allowed Crowley to pump into his mouth twice before he released. “Demon,” he finished. Crowley used every last part of his will not to grab the professor’s head and hold him in place as his lips graced over the tip of his cock once more. It was too much.

“It wasn’t...I didn't…” Crowley was gasping for air as Azira picked up the pace. “There wasn’t any other professor,” he groaned. “Just you.”

“Mmmm,” Azira hummed knowingly, sucking in Crowley’s full length. A tight spiral of desire was uncoiling in Crowley’s stomach. Azira’s hand found his balls and fondled him sweetly.

“So you just...made it up?” Azira said deviously. “So naughty.”

Crowley couldn’t respond because Azira pulled his hips down to angle him over the edge of the couch. In one fell swoop his wet fingers slipped inside of Crowley while he reclaimed his cock with his mouth. Crowley thrashed in the onslaught, so close to completion.

With a few expert gulps Azira backed off and held him on the precipice. “You remember what I told you to do?”

Crowley nodded so fast he almost got whiplash. Azira smiled coyly before lowering down to finish the job. In short time, Crowley was bucking and convulsing for all he was worth. When he came, he screamed Azira’s name.

-

Crowley’s eyes opened as if he’d been asleep for a hundred years. He was wrecked, thoroughly ravaged, and floating on a blissed-out cloud of exhaustion. He watched the professor stand and dust himself off. Primly, he blotted his mouth with a handkerchief that had been tucked in his back pocket.

It was then that Crowley realized he’d never made good on his effort to completely disrobe Azira, whose half-buttoned shirt still clung barely over his torso. Greedily, Crowley ducked forward to claim him, but was disappointed when his professor stepped back.

“It’s alright,” he said quietly.

Crowley frowned. “But I…” he protested. “You just destroyed me in the best possible way. I want to return the favor. I want you.”

Azira’s expression had altered into a guilty pout. Crowley could almost hear the protective walls being built back up around him. Fearing rejection, Crowley jumped up and pulled Azira into a tight hug. Tears were already forming in his eyes.

Azira returned the hug, but only for a moment. His arms went limp at his sides and Crowley let go reluctantly.

“I forget myself,” Azira said. “You’re still my student.”

“Who cares about that?” Crowley argued. “I don’t!”

“I do,” Azira stated dispassionately. “I shouldn’t have given in to that temptation. It’s not fair to you, and it puts my job at risk.”

Crowley sat down and started pulling on his clothes, feeling ashamed and exposed. “I don’t believe you,” he grumbled. “I know you care for me.”

Azira was rumpled and obviously unsatisfied, but he made himself drop down into an adjacent armchair. “I don’t mean to hurt you, Anthony.”

Crowley’s eyes flashed up in anger. “But you are! Why are you doing this? Because some bureaucratic institution told you it was wrong? Are you really going to let them dictate your personal life?”

Azira looked pained. He doubled over to let his face rest in his hands. “I don’t know,” was all the reply he could offer.

Crowley had yanked on his shirt and was fiddling with his tie before realizing his efforts to that end were useless. He let the undone tie rest uselessly around his shoulders and stood in a huff.

“Don’t act like I’m some hapless schoolboy you’ve just defiled,” he warned. “We’re two grown men who just happen to be in an unusual situation right now. In another few months I won’t even be your student anymore! What’s the bloody difference?”

Azira shook his head wordlessly, which only made Crowley more angry.

“This is ridiculous,” he huffed. “I’m going home. I’m going to finish your class, Azira. And when I’m done, I won’t even think about you!”

Azira’s face snapped up only to see Crowley stomping out of the living room.

“Anthony!” he tried weakly, but the front door had already slammed shut.

-

The next few weeks were a bit awkward, especially in the writing group. During the first session, Quin stood up to offer his usual spot by the professor but Crowley declined, sitting next to Anathema instead. At the second meeting, Azira had already surrounded himself by stationary students, eliminating the chance for Crowley to refuse a nearby seat.

Quin was uniquely disturbed by these events, and noticed that Crowley’s story had also taken a darker turn. The angel and the demon were working apart now, each under their respective head offices. She shook her head when Crowley finished his latest chapter (that he actually read himself this time thankyouverymuch).

This hadn’t escaped any of the other group members' attention, either, but Quin was the first to speak.

“Why are they being so stupid?” she complained.

Crowley’s expression was punishing. “Why don’t you ask him?” he huffed. “The angel, I mean. Obviously the demon has done everything he can to right the situation but the angel is a git. Won’t listen to reason.”

Thomas scratched his head. “I tend to agree,” he sighed. “The angel’s got it all wrong. Don’t you think so, Mr. Phale?”

Azira let off a long-suffering glower as he stared off at nothing. “Dunno,” he said tightly. “Perhaps he’s just doing what he thinks is best. Splitting up lends weight to a moral argument.”

“A moral argument!” Crowley hissed. “Neither Heaven nor Hell has shown a glimpse of morality throughout this entire narrative! What exactly does the angel think he’s fighting for?”

Anathema started to speak but was shocked to find herself cut off by the professor. “He’s fighting for a righteous cause, of course,” Azira snarled. “Not that the demon would know anything about that! He just flits around and does as he pleases with no consideration to-”

“To what?” Crowley demanded. “The truth? The angel has his head stuck in the sand while the demon’s fighting for the only thing he’s worshipped since his Fall. And you know it.”

With that, Azira’s mouth snapped shut and he gazed toward the ceiling as if praying for some holy light to beam down and snatch him away. It didn’t. Instead, he cleared his throat and folded his hands patiently in his lap. “I think,” he said calmly, “We’ve had enough debate today. Let’s wind this down, shall we? Perhaps next week we will all be more level headed.”

Crowley scowled and started shoving his laptop back into his bag, muttering wordlessly to himself. Off to one side, Anathema, Thomas, Quin, and Olivia had entered into hushed conversation.

“That was...awkward,” Olivia started. She watched as Azira and Crowley were both pulled into separate conversations with other students.

“Lovers tiff,” Quin provided. Olivia looked at her incredulously.

“You seriously haven’t noticed?” Quin asked, looking at Anathema for confirmation.

Anathema sighed gently. “We kind of have a theory about that story,” she admitted. Beside her, Thomas nodded in agreement.

“We think that maybe,” he said slowly, “The angel and the demon aren’t just fictional characters.”

Olivia looked seriously confused. “Um, can you elaborate?” she asked.

Quin shrugged at her friends as if asking to initiate a new cult member. “We think Mr. Phale and Mr. Crowley ARE the angel and the demon. Crowley’s drawing everything in his story from real life.”

Olivia actually snorted. “No,” she breathed. “That’s impossible.”

“Think about it,” Anathema urged. “The characters’ physical descriptions. Their unresolved sexual tension. And in the real world, the fact like Crowley looks at Phale like he invented the Rolls-Royce.”

“Wait, what?” Thomas asked.

“Haven’t you heard him go on and on about how he’s always wanted one?” Anathema explained with exasperation. “I swear you never pay attention. It’s an apt simile, trust me.”

Thomas backed off while Olivia concentrated hard. At last, she conceded. “I really didn’t think it was a love story,” she mused. “But I got it all wrong. And if we’re right...they’ve really gone and cocked it up, haven’t they?”

Quin dared a glance at the two men whose entire body language seethed in opposition to one another.

“You can say that again,” she verified. “The question is...what are we gonna do about it?”


	8. 108

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the thick plottens...

The group was dwindling down. Thomas, Quin, Anathema, and Olivia made their way to the door, whispering busily. The two students who had been talking to Azira and Crowley finished up and walked out at the same time, leaving only the professor and his jilted lover.

The two men regarded one another with trepidation.

“Anthony,” Azira began.

“Don’t,” Crowley countered. He hoisted his pack over his shoulder and moved toward the door. A gentle hand on his arm stopped him.

“Can we talk?” Azira asked. “Please?”

Crowley shrugged. “What’s there to talk about? Unless you want to give me another lecture about impropriety. Really, I’m not in the mood.”

Azira closed his eyes in order not to roll them. “You don’t understand,” he pleaded.

Crowley crossed his arms. “And what do I need to understand?”

“Not here,” Azira said nervously. He pushed Crowley toward a private study room and closed the door behind them. Crowley rounded on him and dropped his bag. His hands jerked up as if asking an imaginary question.

The professor balked, not sure how to begin. “You don’t understand what I felt when I first saw you,” he managed. “I never expected someone like you to walk through my door.”

Crowley smirked. “Me and every other student you wanted to bugger,” he said sarcastically.

“No,” Azira countered quickly. “There were no others before you. What I said before...I was talking about you. You are my temptation. My downfall.”

“Romantic, that,” Crowley snarled, but he couldn’t help the dizzy feeling emanating from his stomach and ebbing in his chest. He’d hoped as much but hearing it out loud was everything.

“Anthony,” Azira complained. He let his weight fall back onto the door and sighed.

Crowley felt a flare of tenderness at the professor’s haunted gaze. He took a step forward as if to reach out but quickly changed his mind. “You’re the one who’s making this difficult,” he said instead. “Why play games? I know you want me as I want you.”

Azira’s hands bunched into fists at his sides. His eyes wavered as he looked at his student. “Please don’t,” he asked softly.

Crowley’s impatience flared and his arms shot out, boxing the professor in on either side. The look in his eyes could flatten mountains. “Not until you admit it,” Crowley demanded.

Azira’s breath caught and his eyes went wild like a captured animal. His gaze flicked to Crowley’s lips where a conscious tongue was working over the surface. Without a reply, Crowley pressed into Azira and they traded gasps. Crowley was upping the ante, but he wouldn’t make the first move.

He was shocked when Azira pushed him away, nearly throwing him across the small room and into the adjacent wall. He was on Crowley in a flash, his lips sucking greedily at the flesh of his neck and kissing down his t-shirt. His hands fisted in the fabric and slid down his body. Crowley wanted to resist but Azira was making it hard to do so. Before he knew it, the professor had knelt in front of him and pulled Crowley’s pants to his ankles.

Crowley groaned when he felt the hot slide of Azira’s mouth surround him. But this time was different. There was no filthy language, no demands or rules. Azira was working on him with one purpose only. The realization made Crowley whimper as the waves of pleasure hit him, each one better than the last.

“That’s it,” he cooed, thrusting into his professor’s mouth. “I’m so close!”

Azira redoubled his efforts and Crowley lost the sensation for a moment before he crested, crying out with tears at the edges of his eyes. The white-blonde head at his waist backed off to reveal a reverent look in Azira’s eyes. Crowley stared down and sighed thankfully.

“That was…” he broke off as Azira gently pulled his pants back up and lovingly tucked, zipped, and belted him.

Azira braced one hand on the wall behind Crowley’s head. “The problem isn’t that I don’t want you,” he said sadly. “I can scarcely keep my mind off of you. I think about you all the time, Anthony.” He looked like he was going to cry.

“Let me touch you,” Crowley returned. “Let me give you the pleasure I know you’re running away from. Let me love you.”

Azira broke away and stared at the floor. “You know I can’t,” he spat. And with that, he threw open the door to the study room and bounded out. Crowley couldn’t do anything but stare after him.

-

Anathema and her friends were sitting in a nearby diner shoveling burgers and fries into their mouths. Between smacking bites they were discussing how to assuage the lovesick professor and his student.

“It’s definitely on Phale,” Thomas opined. “If you follow the story, it’s the angel who bails. The demon tries everything he can think of to change his mind.”

Olivia nodded as she slurped down a chocolate shake. “Agreed. But how to intervene? This is my second class with Mr. Phale but I’ve never really had the chance to get to know him. What’s holding him back, do you suppose?”

Quin tapped her fork on the tabletop. “Ethics code,” she asserted. “I’ve been interning in the development office and they make you read these rules of engagement. When it comes to students and faculty, the directive is pretty clear. It’s a hard no.”

“They just don’t want to get sued,” Anathema argued. “It’s not about ethics at all. I mean maybe if there was some question about consent, but here that’s clearly not the issue. They’re both like...45 or something.”

“What if we just...locked them in a room together overnight? They’d be forced to work something out,” Quin said.

“Eh,” Thomas voiced. “That only works in rom-coms. What if told Phale that Crowley was cheating in class? He’d have to kick him out and they could be together.”

“That definitely crosses the line,” Anathema said with color in her cheeks.

Olivia’s eyes doubled in size. “Oh,” she said. “What if we make Phale jealous? Pretend that Crowley has a boyfriend or something?”

“Another faculty member!” Quin squealed, seizing on the idea. “Someone Phale despises.”

Anathema froze as if someone had hit the pause button. “I’ve got it. That self-righteous prick who just joined the department. The pretty one, Mr. Archangel.”

“Oh my god,” Thomas breathed. “We are so doing this.”

-

The next week of classes began, and the meddling kids convened near the podium once they saw Crowley walk out. Anathema kicked off the ruse in the first part of their diabolical plan.

“He sure has him wrapped around his finger,” she said loudly. The professor was just behind her sorting his papers into a briefcase.

“They’re a hot couple, it’s true,” Quin agreed theatrically.

“It’s just crazy,” Thomas supplied. “A student and a faculty member. So taboo!”

Olivia suppressed a smile when she saw Azira’s head shoot up suspiciously out of the corner of her eye. “Well it’s obvious Archangel has it bad,” she said. “But I don’t know about Crowley.”

The students turned when they heard a loud thud. Phale was gathering a stack of scattered papers that his briefcase was bleeding out on the floor. He looked frazzled.

“Well someone was bound to snatch him up,” Anathema said, sweetening the deal. “Funny. I always saw him as more of a blonde-type guy. Oh well! I’m sure they’ll be very happy together.”

“Well if Crowley declines I’ll sail that boat if you know what I mean,” Thomas added with a wink. “That Gabriel chap is one hot toddy.”

The group laughed riotously and made their way to the door. With a daring glance, Anathema looked back to gauge the professor’s reaction. Her heart hit her stomach when she saw his lost expression. He wasn’t even trying to gather his papers anymore. He was just staring into space like a zombie.

She winced, but assured herself this was the right thing to do. If they played their cards right, their two favorite characters would come together in the end. She smiled at the thought.

At that very moment, Crowley was knocking on Archangel’s door. He didn’t want to talk to the man, let alone see him in person, but Archangel had been announced as the program director, meaning that any questions about credits fell to him. He stood waiting patiently, knowing that the professor’s office hours had already started.

“Just a moment!” a deep voice rang out. Crowley leaned against the doorframe and stared idly down the hall. Suddenly, he saw Azira scramble from the classroom a few doors down. Their eyes locked and Azira balked. The next second, Archangel’s door opened and he beckoned Crowley inside, clasping his shoulder. With one final glance, Crowley saw Azira had gone white as a sheet. Crowley turned his attention back toward Archangel and the door closed behind them.


	9. 108

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So much drama. So little time.

“Thanks for meeting me, Mr. Archangel,” Crowley said.

“Gabriel, please,” the professor replied. Crowley tried not to scrunch his nose in disgust. “What brings you here today?”

Crowley sighed. “I just wanted to find out about dropping a class, actually.”

Gabriel blew out a long breath. “Really?” he asked. “We’ve got midterms later this week. It would be an automatic withdrawal. There’s also the risk of incurring a failing grade, which is a waste of money.” He leaned forward and Crowley thought he read genuine empathy on his face. “What’s the course?”

“Um,” Crowley hesitated. “Creative Writing 101. Section A.”

Gabriel paused to consider this. “Phale’s class?” he asked and then chuckled. “I guess I should say I’m surprised. Probably not academically challenging enough for a bright young man like yourself.”

Crowley’s heart turned black. “Not the issue at all, actually,” he countered. “If anything Mr. Phale is too erudite. One of the best courses I’ve ever taken. No, it’s my fault. I think I’ve just taken too much on for my first semester back. I’m getting slammed by my course load.”

Gabriel tapped something into the computer before him and squinted. “Twelve hours,” he stated blandly. “Not exactly a grueling weight. Is there something else you want to tell me, Anthony?”

Crowley squirmed in his chair. He needed a better lie. “It’s family-related,” he said. “There’s a lot going on in my personal life and I just need to pare it down a bit.”

“Hm,” Gabriel replied. “I suppose I could arrange it. You're sure?”

Crowley grimaced but nodded an affirmation.

“By the way,” Gabriel continued. “I’ve heard a great deal about your writing abilities.”

Crowley tried to suppress his shock. “What?”

“Phale,” Gabriel supplied. “He gushed about you the night of my welcoming party. Said you had a lot of untapped potential. A gift, really.”

Crowley’s cheeks reddened. “I didn’t know…” he said.

Gabriel flashed a toothy smile, all perfect angles and chiseled jawline. “I’m actually doing an informal presentation at the end of the week,” he began. “It’s about the literary review process. I don’t know if you’re aware I edited the University Press at Stanford? Just a hobby, really, but it was quite enlightening as well. I’m going to speak about how to successfully publish your work. You might find it interesting.”

“Oh,” Crowley said. He wondered if Azira would be there. “Where?”

“We’re going off the radar,” Gabriel laughed. “Lecture halls are a bit stuffy for my taste. We’ve booked a conference room at the hotel in Piccadilly. The really fancy one…”

“The Ritz,” Crowley gulped. This was no little affair. The five star hotel was the epitome of pretension. No wonder Archangel had selected it.

“We’ll be in the Burlington Room,” Gabriel followed up. “Seven o’clock. I’ll put you down on the list.”

Crowley nodded. “T-thanks,” he said nervously, wondering why Archangel was suddenly so interested in him, of all people.

“See you there,” Gabriel said lightly. Crowley took his leave and gratefully shut the door to get away from him. He looked around as if Azira might still be in the area, but he had long since taken his leave. Crowely couldn’t help but frown with disappointment.

-

The evening of Gabriel’s lecture came and Crowley realized he had no idea what the proper attire would be. He shrugged into a red blazer over a black oxford and slacks, hoping he was dressed up enough for the occasion. He steeled himself once he arrived at the venue. What would he do or say if Azira was there? Shaking himself off, he decided not to think about it (as best he could.)

The room was already three-quarters full when Crowley walked in. He glanced around and saw Archangel beckoning him over. Apparently, he’d saved him a seat at the front. Crowley gritted his teeth. He tried to look surreptitiously around the room but he couldn’t since Archangel was introducing him to a colleague from Stanford. He recognized the name immediately, placing him as a well-known author and faculty member in America.

Lost in pleasantries, Crowley barely noticed the white-blonde head of curls that appeared unwittingly in the corner of his eye. Azira had taken a seat just behind him, much to Crowley’s chagrin. Archangel was laughing loudly and threw an arm around Crowley.

“It is so Vonnegut-esque,” Gabriel said. “Don’t you think, Anthony?”

Crowley had missed the conversation in light of Azira’s arrival. He smiled broadly.

“I couldn’t agree more,” he said amiably.

It didn’t take long before a man approached Gabriel and announced they were ready for his presentation. Crowley watched Archangel light up like the spotlight was his natural habitat. He walked confidently toward centerstage and accosted the microphone.

Crowley couldn’t stop thinking about Azira behind him. He felt like his professor was drilling holes into the back of his head with his eyeballs. The desire to turn around was so strong, but what would he even say? How are you? Are you enjoying the lecture? Do you know I love you so madly that I’d travel back in time if it meant I could meet you all over again? Useless.

Crowley sighed and tried to listen to Archangel, who made emphatic points with dazzling smiles like it was going out of style. The audience seemed highly engaged, but Crowley was having a hard time matching their enthusiasm.

At last, Gabriel finished and settled into a Q&A session. One question came from Anathema, whom Crowley hadn’t even realized had come to the event and was seated in the back. She asked something about the drafting process which Archangel addressed easily.

A familiar voice rang out behind him, and to his surprise, Crowley realized Azira had something he wanted to ask.

“Yes,” Azira said when Gabriel looked his way. “I’m just wondering about your selection process. How do you prioritize new projects? Were there departmental processes or a hierarchy of subjects?”

Crowley glanced back at Archangel who displayed a slight sneer. “The process can be wide and varied,” he replied. “But personally, I look at class enrollment on a case by case basis. If there’s a waiting list out the door then I’ll preference that faculty member. Obviously, he or she is drawing scholarly interest and prestige to the school. If not, I’m likely to pass over a project. It can be quite competitive and I don’t have time to fiddle with books that won’t sell.”

“You don’t look at wider academic interest?” Azira questioned. “Rate the trends in each field?”

Gabriel all but rolled his eyes. “We publish books to sell them, Mr. Phale. How should I explain this? Take your case for example.”

Crowley’s heart lunged out of his body. He didn’t know Azira had been working on anything.

“Poetry is a quaint art,” Gabriel continued. “But it doesn’t make money, historically. If I accepted your manuscript of vaguely erotic metaphors I’d have to take the art history department’s gloss on "food" art. Preposterous. One slip and it all tumbles down.”

A murmur of laughter spread through the room and Crowley’s cheeks burned.

“Besides,” Gabriel dug in. “Class enrollment is key, and I’ve seen students dropping left and right in our own department. In your class, even.”

Crowley heard Azira gasp inwardly. “What are you talking about?”

Gabriel shrugged. “I don’t know, ask your students. There’s one right in front of you.”

Crowley burnt to a crisp. So this is why Archangel wanted him here. This was planned.

Before he could react, Gabriel was accepting another question from the audience. Crowley wondered where the most expedient and discreet exit was. Luckily for him, Azira was already standing up to entertain the same thought. He followed the professor into the hallway.

Azira didn’t even notice Crowley was behind him until he caught up, causing the professor to spin on his heel in surprise. He scowled when he saw who it was.

“What do you want?” he demanded angrily.

“That,” Crowley indicated, “Back there. That was awful. I’m sorry, I didn’t know-”

Azira rolled his eyes mightily. “Didn’t know what? That Gabriel takes every opportunity to belittle me? Well, he does. I just never expected you to join in.” He moved to storm off but Crowley was right on his heels.

“I wasn’t!” Crowley protested. “I only came because I wanted to see you!”

Azira was still walking fastidiously. “You don’t have to pretend with me,” he said in a choked voice. “I know you came because of Gabriel.”

Crowley lunged to grab Azira and held him tightly in his grip. “What is that supposed to mean?” he asked. His eyes searched Azira’s. They were blank with cold rage.

“It means that whatever you two have going on is no concern of mine,” the professor rasped. “If you’ll kindly let me go I’d like to get back home. I have papers to grade.”

“We don’t have anything going on!” Crowley declared. A shiver of disgust went through his body at the thought. “I can’t stand that man! Anyone who would hurt you is dead to me. Do you hear me?”

Azira floundered. “But I thought...I thought you were together!”

Crowley actually laughed. He ran a hand through his hair manically. “That’s the most preposterous...that’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me. What on earth gave you that idea?”

Azira was taken aback. “Well I heard...the students were talking and it sounded like you were…” He couldn’t quite find the words. “And you’re not de-enrolling in my course?” he added.

Crowley balked. “I can't think of another way for us to be together. I don’t want you to break your code or put you at risk. I’ve been so selfish. Fuck the class. I have all the time in the world to graduate." He lowered his eyes. "You have no idea what it felt like when I watched everything I'd ever cared about burn to the ground. All my work. My beautiful plants. I'd cultivated a life for myself and it just turned to dust. You think a stupid credit is going to force me to give up something I love even more?"

Azira blanched in surprise while Crowley turned adamant. “And I don’t care what useless gossip those children spout! I was never with Gabriel. Not in a thousand years!”

Azira nodded, finally calming down. “Well I’ve been a complete arse, then.” he said softly.

“No,” Crowley defended. “You have been, and will always be an angel. My angel.”

Azira trembled with emotion. He barely hesitated before beginning his next thought. “Then if that’s the case...what would you say to an evening at the Ritz?” he asked.

Crowley glowed, a fire stoking in his heart. “I think that’s the best idea you’ve had yet,” he replied.


	10. 110

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh my my.

Dinner had been exceptional. The wine was the perfect vintage, and there was no better company than the two who were presently laughing over nothing. Azira's eyes were soft.

The waiter appeared to inquire about dessert, but Crowley held up a staying hand. Azira's face fell petulantly.

"Sh, now," Crowley soothed. "Dessert is waiting in our room."

Azira perked up but also looked a little confused. Crowley was happy to inform him that a last-minute cancellation afforded him the chance to book a suite while he was 'washing his hands' before dinner.

Azira's face was nothing less than a gloss of admiration. "Clever thing," he tutted happily.

When they arrived, the room was resplendent. It almost reminded Crowley of Azira's vintage home, minus the endless chorus line of books in every nook and cranny. Azira sighed happily as he noted a chilling bottle of champagne next to a dish of chocolate-covered strawberries. Noticing his companion's straying eye, Crowley uncorked the bottle and let out a little giggle.

"Celebrations are in order!" he declared. He poured two glasses and handed one to Azira before sauntering off to the en suite. Apparently, he had a plan.

In less time than Azira had marked his disappearance, he heard the tap running in the bathroom. With some confusion, Azira walked into the room and admired a huge clawfoot tub steaming with rose petals in the mix. Crowley looked up languidly and downed the rest of his glass. He was moving toward Azira with purpose. Without a word, he started to shed his clothes, letting each item fall to the ground with acclaim. Azira watched transfixed until Crowley was completely naked.

Crowley was all tight muscles and sinuous angles. His body was tanned and toned. He stood before Azira like an unwrapped present and smirked with a sultry pout on his lips. Crowley had been waiting for so long to see the same from his former professor. His hands glided up over Azira's arms until they reached his shoulders.

"Show yourself to me,' Crowley demanded quietly.

Azira nodded and set his glass down. With practiced moves he yanked off his bowtie and flicked through the buttons on his waistcoat and shirt. His jacket fell to the floor, followed by every article of clothing that separated the upper halves of their bodies. Crowley couldn't wait, but closed the short distance between them to lock into a tight embrace. There was no pull of physical desire in his movements, only the feeling of true completion and belonging.

Azira sighed when he felt Crowley's deft fingers sliding off his belt and drawing down his pants and all. It was the first time they had been bared to one another, body and soul.

Azira bit his lip and hoped he wasn't a disappointment, but in Crowley's eyes, he was perfect.

The bath was half full and Crowley turned to add a few drops of oil that smelled like jasmine. Azira inhaled luxuriously and closed his eyes. He felt a warm hand take his own and lead him to the edge of the tub. So gently, Crowley helped Azira into the bath. The two of them eased in and soaked in the bliss of shared comfort. This wasn't about lust or demands. This was about beginnings, a world that hosted only them, a respite from anything that might exist outside their door.

Crowley found Azira's foot and lifted it into his lap, rubbing tenderly. Bubbles filled the space in between them and tickled at their exposed skin.

"You're so beautiful," Crowley cooed. "I want to give you everything. Anything you want. Tell me how to make you feel loved."

Azira's face was an endless smile. He didn't want to rush any part of this, but drift in the moment that felt like completion. "Kiss me," he said softly. "Bring me into your arms and don't you dare let me go."

Crowley's face crumpled. He reached past Azira to stop the tap, but when his hand retreated it made a stop on the side of his neck. One finger arched out to trace a line up to Azira's earlobe. With a soft pinch and caress, he pulled Azira's face toward his own. Their lips met like waves lap at the shore, pulled by the gravity of the moon. They were in orbit around one another.

Slowly, Crowley pulled Azira into his lap, water jostling between them. As he slid over Crowley's thighs Azira let out an uninhibited gasp of desire. Crowley wasn't unaffected, judging but the hardening length that rubbed against Azira. They stayed locked like that, kiss-drunk and grinding in the scented water. Crowley only felt compelled to move when he realized he'd never tasted Azira's body, and that was enough to motivate an abandonment the tub. He shifted his weight until the two of them were on their knees facing one another. Crowley stood first, still holding hands, and drenched body dripping on the mat pulled Azira to his feet. With tender precision, Crowley ghosted a soft white towel over his body, sucking up every drop of moisture he could find. Once Azira was mostly dry, Crowley shook a towel over his own frame carelessly. He was already pulling his lover along after him toward the bed.

The two half-wet bodies united on the plush comforter, and pieced together in ecstasy. Crowley's hand drifted up behind him to catch a chocolate strawberry while Azira sucked on his neck. Their prone bodies were deliciously entwined, and Azira thought nothing could make it better until he felt the cold invasion of sweating chocolate at the entrance of his mouth. Crowley was nudging a strawberry toward his lips, and Azira consented with a healthy bite.

A gush of sweet juice trailed down the side of his mouth, and Crowley chased it eagerly with his tongue. Quickly like the predator he was, Crowley maneuvered Azira under him with a twist of his thighs. Reaching for the champagne, Crowley glared naughtily and took a gulp. He swallowed but let the next drink pour over Azira's chest, causing the victim's nipples to harden sharply. Azira gaped as Crowley leaned down to lick up the mess. He spent more time on each hair-smattered nipple than strictly necessary to capture the spilled beverage, eliciting a gasping moan from Azira. With tender attention, Crowley let his kisses and nips drift down over the soft stomach and hips under him.

Crowley was so close to his goal and wouldn't let anything interfere with this moment. This whole time, the professor had used his body to wrecked satisfaction, while Crowley was never allowed a second of reciprocation. Not this time. Fuck, never again, as far as Crowley was concerned.

His lips finally smacked over Azira's impressive girth and drew him in desperately. The feeling of Azira in his mouth was...unnng...hard and soft...something given and something stolen...control and consent. He could hear Azira's mewling cries from afar, and knew he was finding all the right spots with varying application of pressure and give. As an afterthought Crowley nestled his nose into Azira's balls and lapped at them too between deep-throated tugs. He could feel Azira tightening and released his hold mournfully.

Azira gasped in despair but Crowley had already moved on to tongue the space between his balls and his arsehole. The saliva was building and created a wet pool for his fingers to play in. They rubbed at the bud where he wanted to be and slicked inside while Azira belted out unprecedented expletives. He almost had him where he wanted him.

"C'mon angel," Crowley encouraged through gasps of his own. "Tell me when you're ready."

Azira could barely speak, let alone reply, but Crowley heard his assent through mounting moans. Crowley steered himself into the warm depth of Azira and eased with as much restraint as he could manage. At last. At long fucking last.

They were moving together, and Crowley knew he couldn't stand up to the lustful scrutiny of Azira's eyes for long.

"Love," Azira pushed out with a gasp, and Crowley knew exactly what he meant.

"Love, yes" he replied, stroking in and out of the beautiful blonde beneath him. He was coming undone.

Crowley's movements were stuttering as he grasped Azira's abandoned erection and pumped for all he was worth. Azira's eyes fluttered closed and he was consumed from both sides, letting out a spastic cry before collapsing back against the bed. Crowley felt warm cum on his hand and followed after, willing to throw himself off any height Azira was willing to jump. He slumped forward and moaned loudly before falling down onto the spent body of his lover.

Nothing. Everything. Cold sheets. Warm breath. And two hands intertwining like they'd found each other for the first time.


	11. 111

Azira was busily repotting a bright green ficus when the bell chimed. A blonde woman walked in and took stock of her surroundings before turning toward him sourly.

"Where are the flowers?" she grumbled. "I need a dozen red roses, or maybe peonies..."

Azira smirked as he brushed the moist dirt off of his hands. "Sorry," he replied. "Plant shop."

"Flowers are plants," the woman intoned. Azira just shrugged and she turned on her heel. Most of the afternoon's interactions had been like this. Azira actually enjoyed driving people off. It almost made him want to start up his own shop. Maybe in retirement...

The bell chimed again, and this time it was Crowley who was breezing through the door. "Oh, you've set up the ficus! You didn't have to go to the trouble..." He set down a brown paper bag filled with takeaway on the counter.

"Nonsense," Azira replied. "I like doing little things for you."

Crowley wrapped his arms around the professor and squeezed tight. "Aren't I so lucky?" he said into the blonde's hair. "Shouldn't you be grading papers?"

Azira stepped back and whisked his project plant over to the window where it could stretch out in the sun. "It's a bit difficult," he answered. "You see I've got so much other reading to do."

Crowley was confused by the strange response until Azira grabbed something from behind the counter and shoved it into his hands.

"Your book!" he cried happily. "How did you get this through Gabriel?"

Azira broke out into a wide smile. "It seems the Dean caught Archangel's display during the Ritz affair, and he was less than pleased. The book was greenlighted once he'd had a chance to read it himself. Gabriel couldn't do anything to stop it, so..."

"Oh, angel," Crowley breathed, capturing him in his arms once again. "Sweet, brilliant, published angel! We'll have to celebrate!"

Azira flushed happily. "Oh, if you insist. But we should really be celebrating your new shop. I can't believe it's been two months already!"

Crowley smiled happily. "I'd never had the bravery to do this again if you hadn't been at my side. I can't believe I almost went into the sciences. Not that there's anything wrong with uni!" He followed up quickly.

Azira's incipient glare receded into a grin. "Sometimes you have to follow your passion," he said mildly.

"I'm looking at mine now," Crowley added cheekily. Azira laughed and started humming his way around the shop. He loved to chat with the plants, check and make sure that everything was in order as if they'd gotten out of line while his back was turned. It made Crowley wildly happy to see him puttering about like this. He glanced down at the book in his hand and flipped it open to peruse the contents. The dedication page caught his attention immediately.

"To C," it read. "My demon. My muse. My ineffable husband. Love Z."

Crowley couldn't help but choke up at the sentiment. He felt Azira's presence before the arms wrapped around him from behind and covered his chest. Crowley's right hand moved up to cover Azira's left, settling on the thin gold band and stroking. Slowly he lifted the hand to his lips and kissed softly.

The door chimed and the pair were surprised to see a few of Azira's students come tumbling in.

"Yech, newlyweds," Quin joked. Anathema laughed and pushed her friend lightly. "As if you didn't orchestrate this whole thing," she whispered.

"What was that?" Azira asked.

"Oh, nothing Mr. Phale," Quin said quickly, her face blushing furiously. "We wanted to see the shop, but I actually need something for my dorm room."

Azira's eyes lit up as he whisked her off toward the back of the shop, tittering about new arrivals.

Anathema smiled gently after them and came up to the counter where Crowley was standing. "You two are cute together," she said. "You must be so happy!"

Crowley flushed and looked down at his shoes. "More than I ever imagined," he said quietly.

"Well, we always knew you'd end up together," Anathema confessed.

Crowley looked up in surprise. "Is that what you all were always whispering about?" he asked. "I could never figure out what you were plotting!"

"Let's just say your story proved a little bit too inspirational," she replied. "What did you end up calling it?"

"Bad Omens," he answered. "It's in review at Penguin Random House now. Not sure if they'll publish it, of course."

Anathema frowned. "Something about the title isn't quite right," she mused. "Sounds weird to me for some reason."

Crowley twitched as he set Azira's book back on the counter. "You know, I've had the same thought. Maybe I'll tweak it if it comes to a second draft. Let me know if you have any good ideas."

Anathema nodded solemnly. "I absolutely will!"

Azira and Quin emerged from the back as they finished their conversation. Quin was lugging a massive fig with an elated expression on her face. Anathema rolled her eyes.

"Is this the one?" Crowley asked with amusement. He shook his head at Azira, who was beaming with joy.

"Definitely," Quin answered. "Though I might need some help getting it home." She glanced at Anathema hopefully.

After finishing her purchase, the two girls found a way to carry the plant out of the shop and bid them farewell. Azira came to stand next to Crowley and intertwined their fingers.

"It just seemed to fit her," Azira explained unnecessarily.

Crowley squeezed his hand and relaxed. "Yeah," he agreed. "I know exactly what you mean."


End file.
